


Ergi

by juniperwick



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Loki is vocal, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Thor is confused, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperwick/pseuds/juniperwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people, Thor knows what they want. Most people are easy to please. That's never been the case with his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ergi

Thor has never been able to understand his brother. It's not that he's stupid, no matter how Sif teases; most of the time he is moving in a world he can read like a book, only with less brow-furrowing and moving of lips. Most people, they are written in large print: angry, happy, hungry. Not Loki. Loki is a fast-running brook or a flame, and Thor cannot scry into him. 

It's late, and outside the walls of Asgard night has fallen like a great dark hand. Inside the lamps are all lit, burning with a faint hiss in their brackets. Muscles full of a pleasant ache, feeling loose and with his bones in all the right places, Thor barely notices he's alone as he makes his way back to his chamber. The anticipation of the evening and its food and wine and song, all righteously earned by his labours in the training yard, is enough to fill his head completely. 

It's then that Loki calls his name. Thor turns, grinning before he's even seen who called him; smiles have always come easily to him. “Loki! I didn't even see you there.” 

His brother leans bonelessly against a wall, all long legs and casual insouciance. They are alone in the wide hallway. “Thor,” he says, and half a smile plays across his mouth.

“Where have you been?” Now that Thor thinks about it, it has been days since he last saw his brother. “Shut up in the spire with your books? We've missed you in the training yard.” (This is a lie, but a well-intentioned one.)

“Come here.” Thor obeys. Close to, he can see there are dark bruises beneath Loki's eyes, and his dark hair is mussed, which attest to his guess about the library. Those darting eyes and the tight set of his shoulders tell Thor, too, that although he can't understand his brother, at least after all these years he knows when Loki wants something.

Thor's already on uncertain ground. He knows that most people can be given what they want, because it is simple. Knowing what people want and how and when to give it to them is one of the first things his father taught him. However, Thor has rarely ever known what Loki wants before it is too late, before he can obviate a wildfire tantrum and a glacial sulk.

As soon as he is within grabbing distance, Loki lunges forward, seizes Thor's wrist and puts Thor's hand on his cock. It is hard under his trousers. Loki's face is quicksilver: defiance and desire and daring. Thor has never known what Loki wants before it is too late.

Loki's thin, cold fingers are still wrapped around Thor's wrist, and he lifts his hips under Thor's hand. “Well,” he says, voice at once low and delicate, “What are you going to do about it, brother?”

Thor snatches his hand out of Loki's grasp easily and seizes Loki's wrists in turn. Before he has time to think if it is the right thing to do he is pressing Loki back against the cold marble, pinning his skinny arms over his head. Loki lets out a hiss of breath, eyes shining. His smile is like the blade of a knife.

“Loki,” Thor breathes, “I don't understand.” This is like the games he has played with his friends since they were children, wrestling and laughing, but it's too quiet and too deliberate. His cock vacillates, confused as he is.

“Poor Thor,” Loki says, voice tickled with laughter. His eyes flicker over Thor's shoulder, quick as a moth. “There's a door behind you. It leads to an armory.”

“I know. What is your point?”

Hilarity flashes briefly over Loki's face, and something like pity. “No point.” He is breathing fast and shallow. “It is entirely up to you what you do with the information.” Loki deliberately spreads his legs a little further, pressing forward against Thor.

Thick-tongued, blood pounding in his head and in his cock, the point Loki is making drops at last. Thor takes both of Loki's thin wrists in one big hand and slides the other, experimentally, down Loki's body. Loki's breath hitches and he bucks into him, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of seconds. He moans, loud enough that Thor snatches his hand back and presses it over Loki's mouth.

Loki's eyes meet Thor's and they are bright with amusement.

Thor glares, but his breath is coming short and his head is all fogged with want. He _does_ want, against his better judgement. He doesn't know what sorcery this is, what scheme of Loki's – he should do as his father says and _think_ , let the slow gears of his (admittedly not efficient, but relentless) mind churn over what he ought to do. Shaking his head as if drugged, he releases Loki, and steps back.

Loki sags, catches himself, and, straightening with a sidelong glance at Thor, he crosses to the door. Thor turns in time to see Loki's bright grin flash. “I'll just be in here,” he says, “looking at some shiny metal things.” He disappears.

Thor, left alone in the wide hallway, breathes a long breath and swipes a hand through his hair. He rubs his damp palms against his thighs. Then he glances up and down the hallway as his feet, without the slightest intervention of his brain, walk him towards the armory.

Inside, it is dim, and in the lamplight glint the blades of swords, of spears, dirks and daggers, arrayed against the marble. Bundles of pikes lean in corners. Nicked and dented shields hang like portraits. Plinths rise from the floor, on which are breastplates and gorgets and greaves, and rags for polishing and little fullers for beating out smaller dents. 

Loki leans against the nearest of these, looking at Thor from under his brows. That dangerous grin still splits his face. Before Thor can do anything, Loki reaches back and sweeps the plinth clean.

The noise is deafening. The armour and the shields clatter and clang against the marble floor, resounding like a host of discordant bells. Thor covers his ears with flat palms, wincing against the din. It seems to go on forever. In its wake, a silence as awful and solid as an ice age. When Thor at last looks up, Loki is sat on the edge of the plinth, mischief dancing over his features.

Thor crosses the distance between them in two strides and seizes Loki's arm. “What is the matter with you?”

Something cold enters Loki's expression. “There is nothing the matter with me,” he hisses. His free hand shoots out to press almost too hard against Thor's stiff cock. “What's the matter with you, brother dear?”

Thor blanches and steps back, releasing Loki's arm, but Loki leaps up from the plinth and follows, too close. “What? Is it that you want me?” He pushes his face close to Thor's. “You want me, your brother? Your little runt of a brother?” 

Thor's tongue is too thick for his mouth, and he trips over his words. “I don't understand this game, Loki. You started this.”

“That's right,” Loki snaps, “I started this. And it isn't over until I say it is.” Suddenly, he backs away. He finds the plinth without taking his eyes from Thor's and slides onto it. He leans back on the marble on one elbow and slips the other hand into his trousers. His face is all tremulous and unreadable but he doesn't take his eyes from Thor's. He begins to stroke his cock, deliberately, slowly at first. 

Thor's hands bunch into fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, but finds he cannot tear his gaze from his brother's. Loki, hand moving inside his trousers, lets his eyes fall closed, and parts his lips, a low, urgent noise coming from his throat for all the worlds as if it were involuntary (but Thor knows better). His breath is coming fast, now, and his hand is moving more quickly on his cock, the sounds he makes louder, more dramatic. 

Something in Thor snaps and suddenly he is across the distance between them, climbing up onto the plinth, knees either side of Loki's narrow hips, to catch Loki's arm. Loki's eyes open, and he grins with wildfire delight. Thor says, “You are impossible,” and if Loki had anything to reply Thor smothers it when he covers Loki's mouth with his.

Loki is cold as the marble underneath them. Thor knows this, but is surprised every time he touches his brother and his skin feels as if he has just come in from the rain. Loki's long, cold fingers find their way under the hem of Thor's shirt, and leave twin wakes of goosepimples across the flesh of his hips, his ribs. Loki's mouth tastes like a handful of winter snow, becoming meltwater on the tongue. Impatient now he has capitulated, Thor strips off Loki's shirt, pulling it over his brother's head and tossing it aside to snag on a blade. Loki's clever fingers, gone from Thor's skin, are loosening his trouser lacings. His eyes are half-lidded, and there is a rare pink flush high on his cheekbones. Thor fumbles out of his own clothes, stumbling out of his trousers as if drunk. He kicks them away, and then there are Loki's pale, soft thighs parting for him like a woman's, his pink cock hard on his stomach. Loki wraps his legs around Thor's waist, drawing him in, fingers raking the golden fur at his chest, his belly, and suddenly Thor is confused again.

His hands uncertainly holding Loki's knees, he says “Is this what you want, Loki? Do you want to be a woman?” 

He is expecting fire or ice but instead Loki just laughs, though his expression is too complex to define. “Poor Thor,” he says again. “So puerile. Is that what you think is happening?”

“I...” Thor begins. He doesn't know what _puerile_ means but he is certain it isn't complimentary.

Loki pushes himself up so that his face is inches from Thor's, all smile and languid, bewitching eyes. He draws a cool hand down Thor's body until he finds Thor's cock in its nest of golden hair and curls his fingers around it. “If that's how you want to play this game, brother,” he says, stroking Thor's cock, “that's how it shall be. What are you waiting for?” He is speaking through his smile and Thor knows this is dangerous, oh so dangerous. “Be the man everyone says you are, Thor.” His mouth is a breath away from Thor's, but there he remains, teasing with his proximity. “Fuck me. Fuck me like a man. Do it.”

Through Thor's lust-drunk brain something breaches like an animal, and with an explosion of motion he grabs Loki by the shoulders and shoves him back, down against the cold marble, pressing him down with the weight of his body. Loki yelps and laughs. Thor spreads Loki's legs roughly – there is a part of him distant, watching this with judgement reserved, but it is a very, very small part – and he spits a gobbet of slippery saliva onto his hand, spreads it along his fingers. Loki watches, mouth open, lips wet. Without hesitating, Thor meets Loki's dark eyes, and plunges two wet fingers inside him. 

Loki gasps and arches under him. His face is a dance of meaning incomprehensible to Thor, but he breathes “Yes,” half smiling, half grimacing, “Yes.” His eyes meet Thor's and they are full of granite certainty.

At this affirmation, Thor begins to move his fingers. Slowly, at first; Loki is tight and quivering around him. With his other hand he is still holding Loki down, using his weight to keep him restrained. Under his grip, Loki trembles and jerks like an unbroken colt. He whimpers, high and helpless. Thor's cock twitches, bloodbound against Loki's thigh, and he moves his fingers faster to force more noises from his brother. Loki throws his head back and moans, full of desperate want. “Yes,” he breathes again, “yes, yes, oh, yes...” Then he seems to stiffen all along his spine and his eyes snap open. They find Thor's, and Loki is pallid and fever-flushed, eyes dark and vague. “Thor,” he says, and there is an edge to his voice. “Fuck me. Now.”

Thor withdraws his fingers without hesitation, and Loki goes limp on the marble. Thor spits again on his hand and wets his cock, painfully hard from his brother's performance. Then, kneeling on the plinth, he spreads Loki's pale legs again and this time guides his cock – slowly, achingly slowly – into him. 

Loki is tight as a fist around him, and hot. A long, low noise escapes Loki as Thor enters him, and he moves against him, skin chill even as inside he is warm. Thor takes Loki's wrists again, pins them above his head, holds them there with one large hand while with the other he pulls Loki's hips to him, driving deeper. Loki is wordless, now, gasping and panting and moaning, louder, throwing his head back; and part of Thor wants him to shut up but the other, larger, stronger part wants to pound more noises out of him. 

Thor has been many things to Loki, he knows: brother, rival, idol, friend. But he has never made him happy. Although there is very little thinking in Thor right now, whatever there is has an inkling that this might be the next best thing. 

So Thor plunges into him, hand slipping around to cup his arse, cold from the marble or just cold, Thor doesn't know, and drags Loki against him with a rhythm as inexorable as the tide; and Loki beneath him is simple at last, dark eyes closed, quicksilver mouth only crying out wordlessly, face transported, thoughtless. Thor wrings out of him sweet, loud, desperate cries. When Loki comes he spurts hot between them, bucking up into Thor, silenced as quick as if his throat had been cut. Around Thor's cock he tightens in spasms and it is this and the look on his face that tips Thor over the edge and he is thrusting hard into Loki and climaxing in one half sob half shout.

Thor collapses onto his brother, and for a long moment they are a sweat-sticky, sweat-slick heap of limbs and hard breathing, Loki's seed slippery between them. Then Thor heaves himself up, pulling wetly out of Loki and half-falling, half-laying onto the cold marble beside his brother. He rests his forehead against the stone. The world, previously shrunk to the borders of their skin, widens again. Once more, Asgard is out there. He tries to think of something to say. Before he can come up with anything, Loki begins to laugh.

With an effort Thor lifts his heavy head to glare at his brother. Loki turns his face to him, grinning like a knife. His voice is raw when he says, “Oh, that was one of my better plans.” 

Rolling away, Thor slips from the plinth onto legs that buckle under him. He grabs for the plinth, almost falling, and stumbles – as he does, stubbing his toe on the edge of a breastplate and swearing reflexively. 

“I'm not laughing at you,” Loki says, although his statement is robbed of credence by his giggles. “Oh, smile, brother!” He rolls onto his side and props his head on a fist. “That was _good_.”

Thor, leaning on the plinth and peering at his injured foot, looks up and meets his brother's dark eyes. Loki is himself again, his incorrigible, infuriating, incomprehensible brother. Whatever had been undone was now snarled up again, and Thor couldn't understand the play of meaning and emotion on Loki's face. Loki was subtle, he thought, and he was blunt. Perhaps it was not the end of the world. One day, Thor would be an honest king, and his brother would be his clever councillor.

Thor smiles, beguiled into it despite himself, and climbs back onto the plinth to gaze at Loki where he lies, still pale as frostbite, unwound by exhaustion. Conscious of being admired, Loki rolls onto his back again and puts his arms behind his head. Thor runs a hand over Loki's smooth chest, his shallow stomach, absorbing the marvel of touch. Eyes on Thor, Loki tips his head back and lifts his hips so lightly he might not have moved at all. As close to happy as he could get, Thor thinks. “Are you satisfied now, brother?”

Loki grins like a cat. “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> So for this I gave up trying to write something good and just wrote something hot.


End file.
